


Papaoutai

by classillama16



Category: Team Fortress 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-07-10 21:21:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15957788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/classillama16/pseuds/classillama16
Summary: What happens when Spy, who's tried so hard to keep his identity a secret, finds out that one of his coworkers is, in fact, his son?





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still new to the wonky world of writing, so I'm open to any and all feedback! Feel free to leave comments with suggestions, questions, or critiques. I really want to improve my writing skills.

     He trudged out of the house, each weary step weighed down by regret. As he dropped all his weight into the driver seat of his car and turned the ignition, he took one last wistful look outside.

     The setting sun cast shadows across the street, leaving her house in darkness. The only other light came from a single lamp across the street, and it didn't provide much.

     His gray eyes were glassy with the slightest hint of tears. He wanted nothing more than to stay with her and help to raise who was to be her last and youngest son, but they both agreed:

 

     Jeremy could never know who he was.

 

     He'd spent his life in the shadows, fulfilling contracts and accumulating wealth the dirty way and yet still keeping his gloves clean: gruesome yet classy. If her son were to grow up with this man as his father, there would be no doubt that he'd follow in his footsteps. At least with his killer of a dad out of the picture, the boy would have an opportunity to gain a wide spectrum of career options without heavy influence.

     Where would he go? As a precaution in his dirty career, he'd spent every waking moment making sure he never made any connections, and always,  _always_ severed all communications with each employer. If he was ever hired by the same employer more than once, they never knew it and it was always by chance. Every interaction was made via messenger. He was always aware and alert.

     His only real moments of weakness were with  _her._

     His  _petit chou-fleur_.

     He'd charmed and broken the hearts of countless women before, but she was the first and only person to whom he ever let himself close enough to really know.

     And now, he'd gotten too close. 

     There was nothing else for him to do other than to turn back to his old life, but at this point, he'd broken the code. He couldn't risk anyone finding him out and coming in revenge for the family he had just helped to create. 

     The best thing for him to do was to hire himself out as a mercenary. He would need to join a permanent team, a group of men who had never met him before and who would never have any reason to sell him out. He would be able to continue using his specialized skills, while still staying under the radar.

     He suddenly realized with an agonizing feeling in his heart that ever being able to see Jeremy at any point in his life was nigh impossible.

     He turned silently onto the highway as he was gently enveloped by the dark, abysmal colors of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Petit chou-fleur: Little cauliflower (a common term of affection in France)
> 
> I put a little more thought into this one, although I'm not 100% sure where I want it to go. I wrote it a while ago; I'm still trying to figure out Spy's character. I am trying, though, to add in a few slightly more complicated literary elements like symbolism and allusions. Be on the lookout!
> 
> Papaoutai is a song by the French artist Stromae. The title is a slightly modified version of the phrase "Papa, où t'es," which means "Dad, where are you?"
> 
> I recommend giving it a listen. Here's a translation of the lyrics (you can find it on YouTube with the captions on):
> 
> Tell me where he comes from,  
> Then I will know where I'm going  
> Mommy says if you search hard for it,  
> You'll always end up finding it
> 
> She says he is never too far away  
> That he goes very often to work  
> Mommy says working is good  
> Better than to be in bad company,  
> Right?
> 
> Where is your Papa  
> Tell me, where is your Papa  
> Even without speaking to him  
> He knows it's not going well  
> Eh, unique Papa, tell me where you are hiding  
> I must have counted on my fingers  
> At least a thousand times
> 
> [Refrain]  
> Papa, where are you? (about 8x)
> 
> Whether you believe in this or not  
> One day will come when we'll stop believing  
> One day or another we will all become Papas  
> And one day from another we will disappear
> 
> Will we be hated?  
> Will we be admired?  
> Genitors or geniuses,  
> Tell me, who gives birth to the irresponsible?
> 
> Tell us who!  
> Everybody knows how to make babies  
> But nobody knows how to make Papas  
> "Mr. Know-It-All" would have inherited it, that's it  
> Does it come from sucking our thumbs or what  
> Tell us where it is hidden  
> We must have eaten our fingers  
> At least a thousand times
> 
> [Refrain]  
> Papa, where are you?
> 
> Where is your Papa?  
> Tell me, where is your Papa?  
> Even without speaking to him  
> He knows it's not going well.  
> Eh, unique Papa  
> Tell me where you are hiding  
> I must have counted on my fingers  
> At least a thousand times
> 
> Where is your Papa?  
> Tell me, where is your Papa?  
> Even without speaking to him  
> He knows it's not going well!  
> Eh, unique Papa,  
> Tell me where you are hiding!  
> I must have counted my fingers  
> At least a thousand times.
> 
> [Refrain]  
> Papa, where are you?


	2. Le Misérable (The Miserable One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Spy first sees Scout on the battlefield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know these chapters are really, really short; I originally wrote them on my phone and they seemed a lot longer there. Bear with me; these chapters are definitely going to start getting a lot longer.

     He couldn't believe it. He'd just seen him. His son. There was no question; it was Jeremy. He'd seen it on the medical enlistment file after sneaking into Medic's office. It was written in bold ink, plain as day. "Jeremy." He'd noticed clues on the field, as well: the boy strung his words together with the exact same Bostonian dialect his mother possessed. They had the same strong, sharp chin. During their off-time in the base, Spy had noticed that he and Jeremy shared the exact same intense, piercing gray eyes.

     There was no doubt about it.

     This was the son that he'd separated himself from for so long, in order to keep him safe from the life of a hired killer.

     Now, that had all gone out the window. Here he was, Force-A-Nature in hand, a twenty-something-year-old known as the "Scout" slaughtering members of the enemy team left and right, the most unsettling cocky grin crossing his face as he did so.

     No, no, no, no, no. This was all wrong. This was not supposed to happen. How could she let him do this? There was no way she would allow this. He must have inherited his father's stealth and enlisted himself behind his mother's back. But what could possibly have motivated him to hire himself out working such a bloody job as this? And what was this new feeling? Was this... worry? Could it be, perhaps... fatherly instinct? Spy had never worried about anything in his life (aside from the occasional spychecking Pyro), and now he had the sickening feeling that this might be not only his first anxious moment but the first of many.

     "SPY!" A voice like a trumpet caused him to look up with a jolt.

     "We are not going to have a slight chance of victory if even  _one_ of us fails to do his job!"

     "Apologies, Soldier." He stood up and stretched, did a last inspection of his equipment, and straightened his tie. "Where is our target?"

     "There is an engineer with a sentry hiding like a coward behind that tall rock just outside respawn. Do Sun Tzu proud, son! ATTAAAAAAACK!"

     "Of course. _Allons-y!_ "

 

     The worrying would have to wait.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Allons-y: "Let's go!"


	3. Profitez du Silence (Enjoy the Silence)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where I start to go into Spy's internal conflict regarding being a father seeing his son fighting on a bloody battlefield. His fatherly instincts start to automatically kick in, and he's not sure how to respond to it.
> 
> And yes, I am going to give every chapter a French title :) As long as I'm around, you're not going to read through this story without learning a little bit of French, goshdarnit!

        "Jeremy, your shoe is untied."

     It came out before he could stop himself. Spy winced at the sound of his own voice. He attempted a recovery: "Wouldn't want you to trip over your own ridiculously long legs, now would we?" He smirked, for good measure.

     Slightly taken aback, Scout gave him a strange look: confusion and indignation mixed with defiance and mild anger. "Wow, okay, thanks, Ma." After reluctantly bending down to tie his shoe, he stood up and stated, indignantly: "You don't gotta tell me what to do! You ain't my dad."

        "Is that so?" Spy replied, trying to be as subtle as possible. He had to find out what the boy's mother had told him about the father he'd never seen, if she'd even told him anything at all.

        "Yeah, it's so! I don't even have a dad. He died before I was even born. Ma loved him more than you could ever know. And speakin'a which, he's the guy that came up with my name, so you ain't fit to call me that!" He swiftly turned on his heel to point a finger at the others. "And that goes for the rest of ya! Anybody who dares to call me anything other than 'Scout' gets a bat to the face, unnerstand?!"

     He'd become red in the face. This was evidently a sensitive topic that was to be avoided from now on. Besides, if the boy ever did know or suspect anything but chose to deny it, Spy was just as willing to keep it a secret as he was.

 

     A few days later, he found Scout sitting in the lounge, by himself, with his feet resting on the table. His legs were crossed and his eyes were focused on his pistol, which he was spinning on the table. 

     Spy deftly took one step into the room. Then another, and another, and another. Soon, he was at the table, sitting in the chair across from him. Scout didn't break his eyes from the spinning pistol, but he was the first to break the silence.

        "'Sup, Frenchie."

        "What about yourself? You've been more reserved and quiet than usual these past few days. Are you alright?"

        "Well I dunno, how am I s'posed ta feel after some random guy I work with uses my real name when I've only ever heard it used by my mom for the last twenty-five years?"

        "I see your point. I would be angry as well."

        "H-how do you even know my name, anyway?"

     Here, Scout looked him in the eye.

     Here they were, father and son, locked in one another's gaze. All the years he missed with his son suddenly came flooding toward him like a tidal wave.

     They had never had the chance to share this kind of silent intimacy before, and they might never share a moment like this again.

     Once again, Scout brought the wall of silence crashing down.

        "Quiet as ever. I get it. Gonna learn everybody's secrets and then clam up like you don't know nothin'. Guess that's how the Spy rolls, huh?"

     He scoffed, shook his head, and holstered his pistol as he stormed out of the room, leaving his mysterious colleague alone to his thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Enjoy the Silence" is a song originally performed by Depeche Mode (fun fact: "dépêche-toi" means "hurry up" in French), but it was slightly recently adapted into an a cappella choral version by a composer by the name of Eric Whitacre. I recommend listening to both of them. 
> 
> Whitacre was a huge fan of Depeche Mode, and a friend of his said to him one day: "I bet you couldn't Whitacre-ize Enjoy the Silence." 
> 
> Whitacre basically said, "Challenge accepted," and that's exactly what he did. It's a really incredible piece.
> 
> Anyway, I thought using the name of the song as the title of this chapter would be fitting, seeing as how the chapter mostly focuses on the nature of the lack of communication and relationship between this pair. What could have been an intimate and meaningful moment of quiet contemplation as father and son is now, due to a series of unfortunate circumstances, simply an awkward silence.


	4. Fumée (Smoke)

Spy knew that if he let his emotions get the better of him, the others would begin to think he was attached to this boy. He could not let that happen. He had a reputation to uphold.

As confused as he was about his feelings regarding the situation, he wasn’t all that surprised. He'd missed out on his son's entire life. Now here he was, a young man in his prime, killing men left and right, vanishing with a snide remark as their bodies hit the ground. Spy still couldn't understand what had driven him to this.

There was only one way he could make sure Scout would never suspect anything.

He would simply need to play the part of a man who wanted nothing to do with the boy.

It wouldn't be too difficult; he'd (mostly) refrained from making connections his entire life. Staying disconnected was his specialty.

And if he really thought about it, it was a bit hard to believe that this man-child was actually his son. He was the complete opposite of his father: while Spy was arguably the quietest member of the team, Scout was most definitely the loudest (second, of course, only to Heavy). Scout was the fastest member of the team; Spy found more benefit in biding his time. Instead of lurking in the shadows like Spy, watching and waiting quietly for the opportune moment to strike, Scout preferred to run straight at his target with a yell, taking them down with a single swing of his bat.

And that was only part of it.

It was almost embarrassing how unsophisticated and undignified he was. Spy did his very best to keep his suit immaculate on this disgustingly messy battlefield; meanwhile, Scout wore the bloodstains on his clothes like a badge, reveling in the psychotic euphoria that came with knowing that it was not his own blood, but someone else's.

Spy had some level of understanding regarding Scout's arrogance; it was hard not to take pride in winning what small battles you could in this intractable stalemate of a war.

But this was different. Scout seemed to enjoy it too much. If it weren’t for the example of the Medic-- and well, every other man on the team really-- he might actually begin to worry about the boy’s mental state. They were all psychotic imbeciles but on different levels. Each man controlled his insanity to a different degree.

Spy pondered over all this in his smoke room, watching the vapors from his cigarette as they twisted and stretched before his eyes. Not a second went by in which they stayed the same. They simply changed.

Constantly.

Smoke is a mysterious thing, Spy mused. It is in a perpetual state of transformation. Being like any other gas in behavior, no two molecules touched one another for longer than a millisecond, quickly spreading so far apart that the vapors themselves seemed to disappear completely.

Spy reflected on his own life, how he had become complacent in his current career.

Content.

Unmoving.

So unlike the smoke that ensnared his addiction during every waking moment of his life.

Was this it?

Daily battles against a group of men identical to your own,

over a common resource that was of no real consequence to anyone,

then dozing off every afternoon, self-confined to a velvet chair in the center of a quiet room bloated with the smog from decades past?

Spy put out his cigarette in the nearby ashtray.

What exactly had he planned to do for the rest of his life?

Did he ever even have a plan?

Spy’s reverie was gradually interrupted as more and more unfinished thoughts were claimed by the slow, warm embrace of sleep.

 

The next time Spy saw Scout while preparing for battle, he couldn't help but notice the velcro straps on the boy's shoes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's amazing the literary ideas you come up with when you're writing at midnight.
> 
> I was proofreading the whole smoke and change and complacency bit when I suddenly realized...
> 
> Smoke/smoking really is a symbol of Spy himself. 
> 
> Think about it.  
> \- Smoke clouds your vision and prevents you from seeing what's there; Spy can disguise himself and prevent you from seeing who he really is.  
> \- Smoke, being a gas, expands and just keeps expanding until it seems to just disappear completely; Spy can turn completely invisible.  
> \- Cigarettes are so small and seem so harmless, too many people realize too late that they are literally killing them; Spy is not exactly visibly strong and so he is not perceived as a threat, and people (mostly noobs) only realize too late that a skilled Spy is actually their worst nightmare.  
> \- (slightly less serious observation:) Light a cigarette on fire, and it will eventually kill you; Light a Spy on fire, and he will eventually kill you.
> 
> But at the same time, smoke is like Spy's complete foil in a way as well. Example: 
> 
> Smoke constantly moves and changes; A Spy will never change his ways. 
> 
>  
> 
> Or will he?


End file.
